Bloodyhellkissing
by Deathofme
Summary: One shot. HW The kiss, the catalyst and the potential the end.


**A/N**A toast to french jam (Andie, that means you're the toast)

I dunno, I might as well have one House/Wilson one-shot (gack, they still seem soooo OOC to me but I've fiddled around with it to the point of excessive fiddle-age). It's more Wilson one-sided though. Hope y'all enjoy and please leave a review!

Cookies to anyone who watches 'Ballykissangel', I watched it for the title alone.

* * *

When you kiss someone you take a risk.

For that moment of sweet life you've stolen from another person's lips, for taking something that was not yours to begin with, you risk the chance of never being able to dip from that sweet well again.

When you're on the receiving end of a choice like that, you start to envy the world. All the quick kisses that pass you by, between children and parents, between old friends, new friends, family you like, family you hate, new lovers, old lovers and lovers about to split. They all run by so quickly and without a thought, like water, and they seem meaningless. You envy the easy grace that comes with it, while all there is for you in the night is a cold bed and hesitation.

Wilson's about to make that choice. He knows the pressures surging as its undercurrent, making it thick and real and tense and smothering. Society, family, office politics, beliefs, taboos, fixed images, and evolution. And he knows what he's leaning towards. But he's never been able to do it before, he doesn't know what will give him the strength to do it now.

"Of all the broken-hearted people in the world you've got to have the most pathetic hurt face."

House strides by with a paper cup of coffee in his hand, with the thermal sleeve because he likes his little extravagances, and he doesn't wait for Wilson to catch up with him but continues to stride on. Wilson follows behind like he always does anyway, falling into their easy rhythm.

"Is it still Julie, I don't think it's about Julie though, your shoes are polished, you've ironed your shirt and yet your tie's still kind of messy, so you aren't in a state of depression where you don't care about your appearance which is usually how it is with you and her, and it isn't the opposite extreme which is still likely, where you start pressing and fussing over your appearance like mad for lack of a better distraction."

Wilson wonders how he can say so much and not look as if he wants for air.

"So who dumped you and broke your heart this time? Let's hope you got more sex out of it than a one night stand."

"I'm not in the mood for this House."

"Oh you're never in the mood."

House gives him one of his multi-layered pouts, sarcastic in everyway but unique in the designs of the lines upon his face. He plays his face like a violin, the up or downward stroke of an eyebrow, the deft manipulation of the slightest facial muscle.

Wilson presses his palm flat against the glass of House's office. He walks in with the oncology report for one of House's patients. It's not a pressing case seeing as everything is wrapped up neatly with the sarcoma twisted around the patient's nervous system. It's not a matter for the Diagnostic team anymore, it's up to some very precise work in the OR.

House looks over the report and nods silently, placing it aside, his diagnosis had been right.

"You'd never want to settle down House?"

House gives Wilson a look, the violin is starting to warm up and Wilson wonders what sort of aria he'll be receiving this time. The words have come out of his mouth with clumsiness and diffidence.

"Look, just because you feel the need to try and shove your heart into the hands of every pretty woman you meet doesn't me it's a philosophy for the rest of mankind to follow."

Wilson has his hands in his pockets and they're sweating and sticking to the material of his pants.

"What's so pathetic about you is that you honestly think it will work, every single time. Being dumped three times, I'd like to think you've learned your lesson but somehow I know I'll be getting an invitation to the fourth Wilson wedding. You haven't married a redhead yet, here's your chance."

"And I bet you'd turn down that invitation, like the last two times?"

"Oh you know me so well."

House turns on his iPod and sticks the ear buds in. A cue to leave.

Wilson stands a moment longer and House determinedly looks away, not wanting to hear any rebuke from his friend. Wilson leans forward, the creases in his shirt strike a diagonal to the right, and House feels warm breath against his cheek before looking up. Wilson sees blue, then down to the side of a regal nose before feeling mouth connect with mouth.

He can't close his eyes and he stays like that a split second longer, before he can retreat when he feels two hands push against his chest and the carpet trip up his feet. He stumbles.

"What-!"

The violin's strings snap one after the other in rapid fire succession and the angry yell whooshes out of House before he realizes he can't yell at Wilson, he struggles to find what to say but just gapes instead, struck dumb. House visibly calms himself and then looks at Wilson with a piercing gaze, trying to see through some sort of elaborate hoax.

"What was that?"

Wilson doesn't speak, he looks horrified with himself and sickened and elated at the same time.

"That was me taking a chance."

"Are you sweet on me?"

Wilson doesn't say anything for a long time, he considers his answer carefully though, and while House waits, and sweats, he wonders if he should butt in. Say something trite along the lines of how it's okay to be gay, or to make some wisecrack about it and maybe that's why Wilson's marriage failed, or yell at him to get a grip on himself, but he can only open and close his mouth and not be able to find the strength to speak.

Wilson's fingers find their way, pressed gently against his own mouth and a mirthless little laugh escapes with a gust of air. He doesn't look at House until a few spoken words after.

"You don't want to mention this ever again, right?"

"No."

House says quickly. He adds for emphasis,

"I don't."

Wilson nods quickly too, bobbing his head up and down and reaching over to take the report off the desk, his ankles pivot and he leans towards the direction of the door, quite ready to leave.

"Good. You should go see your patient, there's a good chance she'll die."

With that he's gone and House decides to leave his ear buds in. It's something he can ground to, because he doesn't feel like anything that just happened was more than a dream, and it slips away from him with frightening speed.

He looks to the imprint of Wilson's hand on his office glass and he knows that _that_ mark isn't going to leave for a while.


End file.
